Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (6)
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The regular tournament was divided into preliminaries, main rounds, and the finals.
All participants went through the 'preliminaries,' where the survivors faced off in the 'main rounds' to determine a winner, and then that victor challenged the reigning champion from the previous tournament in the 'finals.'
To advance from the preliminaries, one needed to win two matches.
The first event was the 'melee battle.' With no allies—everyone an enemy to everyone else—fighters had to slaughter each other until only the designated number remained.
Kadim's group had nineteen gladiators. Eight would advance, meaning eleven had to die or be subdued before the match ended.
Crunch—thud!
"Gah... guh... guhhh..."
"......"
Kadim had killed all eleven by himself.
Bodies littered the ground at his feet, fresh blood dripped from his blade, and dried gore matted his black hair. He looked like a demon drenched in fresh blood.
"Hah... ugh... guh..."
"Uh... uhhh..."
The surviving gladiators felt terror so intense it threatened to send bile surging up their throats. They'd forgotten their victory within the quota and could only whimper as they backed into the corner of the arena.
The crowd, on the other hand, erupted in ecstasy.
"Waaaaah!!! Demon Slayer!!! Demon Slayer!!!"
"Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayer!!"
Despite its brutal name, the 'melee battle' was usually a subdued event. Killing too many turned you into public enemy number one, drawing everyone's focus, so most gladiators only took out one or two nearby foes before playing it safe.
But the Demon Slayer had shattered that norm, rampaging across the arena and cutting down most of the field. It was an unprecedentedly savage and thrilling 'melee battle,' so the spectators' frenzied cheers were only natural.
Kadim himself felt nothing special.
"......"
He'd slain all eleven alone simply to end this farce as quickly as possible. He neither basked in the crowd's adulation nor sighed over the corpses. Like last time, he simply pried open the iron bars and left.
Grind... screeech...
That only fueled the crowd's fervor into a raging inferno.
"Waaaaah!!!"
Overwhelming strength bred intense admiration. The people marveled once more at the gladiator's raw power in forcing the bars open. Some screamed in boiling passion, others in lingering shock, and still others in regret at wanting to see more—the arena shook with endless cries of envy.
"Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer!"
"Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayeeeeer!!"
Whoosh—thwip! Whoosh—thwip! Whoosh—thwip!
Not everyone who witnessed the match was swept up in the frenzy, however.
A few mercenary captains seated in the VIP box watched coldly from beyond the bars, whispered among themselves, then left as one.
*
Sealed away in a secret chamber, they had no fear of eavesdroppers. One captain boldly voiced his thoughts.
"Grand Captain Yubik's playing his games... a bit too roughly, don't you think?"
The hesitating others eventually nodded in agreement.
"I feel the same. It felt off when he threw that guy into a 1-vs-24 right off the bat, but after today's match... well, damn."
"He wasn't some pushover from the start, sure, but this doesn't add up no matter how you slice it. Next thing you know, we'll be watching the Demon Slayer take on a hundred at once..."
The Arena King was the de facto owner of the arena. As long as it drew crowds, he turned a blind eye to a little rigging.
But these men couldn't afford to.
Mercenary captains only made bank if their gladiators won and gained fame. They were hypersensitive to powerful rivals and foul play.
And now, a lone gladiator who carved through dozens single-handedly had appeared right in front of them.
At first, they'd suspected a fix. The twenty-four from the previous match were all under Grand Captain Yubik's banner. But that proved wrong—eight of today's dead were from their own rosters.
Still, one man wielding that kind of power barehanded defied all reason.
In the end, the captains suspected cheating.
"Using some hidden artifact? Something that grants superhuman strength when equipped..."
"Maybe a special potion from the Magic Tower. A man of the Grand Captain's stature could easily have ties there."
"Or like those Indomitable Legion barbarians, praying to their god for unnatural power?"
"Nah, but they never use that stuff in arena fights..."
Various theories flew, but no sharp countermeasures emerged. If it were some no-name from a minor outfit, sure—but the Demon Slayer had the Arena King himself on his back.
That was as good as a free pass to cheat all he wanted.
At this rate, one muddy loach would turn the whole arena into a swamp.
"What if we forfeit all our gladiators in protest? Even the Grand Captain couldn't ignore that."
"You mad? If we make zero off this tournament, how do we survive till the next one...?"
"That might be his play. Wait for us to default on fees, then poach our gladiators..."
As the captains dithered, one made a plausible suggestion.
"For the second preliminary, how about pitting the 'Spear of the North' against the Demon Slayer?"
"......!"
The captains flinched, eyes twitching.
The 'Spear of the North,' Lumark.
This northerner had appeared out of nowhere with a single spear, ascended to the arena's top ranks with divine spearwork. Folks ranked him among the top five gladiators; his fans boldly claimed he was the clear number two after Agon's Furious Horn.
He'd missed last tournament's finals due to injury. After a year of grueling training to reclaim his shot at the champion's throne, this event was meant to pit challenger 'Spear of the North' against champion 'Agon's Furious Horn.'
But the 'Demon Slayer' had ruined that narrative.
All eyes were now glued to the man who'd toppled twenty-four alone.
It bruised the 'Spear of the North's' pride, but his sponsoring captain took an even bigger hit—crowds flocking solely to the Demon Slayer had halved preliminary revenues.
Yet if the 'Spear of the North' crushed him in the preliminaries, attention would swing back, and main-round profits would pile up like mountains.
The captains turned to the 'Spear of the North's' sponsor, eyes full of hope. But with suspicions of cheating and the risk of losing their star, they couldn't force it.
A heavy silence fell, not even a breath to be heard.
Finally, the sponsoring captain spoke.
"A spear forged in the North's biting blizzards won't snap to mere wasteland winds."
His shadowed eyes gleamed.
"We'll pit Lumark against the Demon Slayer."
*
Ahead of the match, Kadim sat in the waiting area.
He sensed approaching footsteps. Odd, really—no gladiator had dared come near him after he'd slain dozens across back-to-back bouts.
Thud!
The intruder even brazenly stabbed his spear into the ground at Kadim's feet.
"Feels good soaking up all those cheers like that, huh, Demon Slayer?"
Flushed red skin, pale blue irises, gray hair tied up high. And a razor-sharp longspear. Clearly the northerner he'd face one-on-one today.
The man's gaze burned like cold flame. His sneering lips twisted bitterly.
"The North's deep freeze makes this place's winters look like a joke. Open your mouth, and your tongue freezes solid. Stick a hand out from the blankets at night, and it turns black and dies. Even there, I gripped that ice-cold spear shaft year-round, drilling relentlessly. Why, you ask? To reach this place where the continent's mightiest gather—and prove my strength fair and square, claiming the champion's throne!"
"......"
"You're not the only one who busted their ass. Bet none of the gladiators you killed worked harder than you. Yet you cheat so shamelessly, stealing unearned wins and mocking this shrine of struggle and all our blood, sweat, and tears! And you're an Atalan, devotee of the god of struggle, no less!"
"......"
"Got any excuses, Demon Slayer? Speak if you do!"
Kadim furrowed his brow faintly. What nonsense from the jump—truly, all kinds of lunatics out there.
The guy would be dead once the match started anyway. Ignoring the ravings was an option. But the sheer absurdity demanded a response.
"What foul play did I commit?"
"Don't play dumb! I saw it with my own eyes! No human body alone could wield that power!"
"So you assume anyone stronger than you must be cheating?"
"What nonsense is that? I'm saying your power defies all common sense..."
"Then why not confront Agon's Furious Horn? Does he stay within 'common sense'?"
"......"
The man's mouth snapped shut.
Unlike his earlier oily tirade, he now mumbled evasively.
"He's... he's a great champion worthy of history's pages. Can't compare him to a lowly mercenary fresh off the street like you..."
"How do you know what life's thrown at me, judging me on your whims? Do northerners have eyes that pierce souls on first sight?"
"......"
Speechless. The man gnawed his chapped lips. Kadim added in a tone laced with faint exasperation.
"...And this isn't a shrine of struggle. It's a den of depravity where clowns peddle fights and spectators chase cheap thrills. If you truly want to prove yourself, leave now and seek battle with demons and monsters. That'd be a far worthier field."
Words that insulted his entire existence. The man glared daggers and spat venomously.
"Shut your mouth, Demon Slayer! You crawled in here chasing coin and glory yourself—don't spew that drivel!"
"......"
"I am the 'Spear of the North,' Lumark! I'll make you pay for insulting this arena and its gladiators! Out to the field now, Demon Slayer! In the name of every gladiator, I'll crush your filthy cheating with honest steel!"
The northerner yanked his spear free and stormed to the opposite waiting area. Kadim frowned. On second thought, he'd wasted words. Yeah, no point arguing with someone deaf to anything but flattery.
Gong—clang!
The gong heralded the match's start. Kadim hopped the bars onto the dirt. Cheers cascaded from the stands like a waterfall.
"Waaaaah!!"
"Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer!!"
"Waaaaah, Spear of the North! Spear of the North!"
"Spear of the North! Spear of the North! Spear of the North!!"
The deafening roar held two names in perfect balance.
The Demon Slayer had dominated the hype lately, but the Spear of the North was no slouch in renown. Thousands of fans showered fervent support on the blue-eyed northerner.
"Show that arrogant barbarian what for, Spear of the North!!!"
"Skewer the Demon Slayer's neck for tonight's drinks!!"
"I bet my life savings on you!!! You have to win!!!"
Lumark waved to his fans and bellowed triumphantly.
"Fear not, everyone! All who came to cheer me, all who bet on me—you'll remember this day as the best of your lives!"
"Waaaaaaaah!!!"
Kadim, meanwhile, gripped his weapon with cool indifference, not even glancing aside. No matter how the crowd begged for attention, he didn't budge. The northerner and Atalan stood opposed on opposite sides of the arena, stark contrasts in demeanor.
Still, every spectator buzzed with excitement. To think such a blockbuster clash before the main rounds. They anticipated a bloodcurdling showdown between titans.
But their hopes were dashed.
This match was a 'standard duel.' Pick any basic weapon—sword, spear, axe, mace—and go one-on-one. Lumark naturally chose his trusty longspear.
Kadim selected a 'throwing axe'—the one closest in weight to a salmon.
Lumark saw it. But hurling an axe from nearly two hundred meters? Absurd. He assumed Kadim would close first and lowered his guard.
Yet mocking that presumption, a gale of doom whipped from Kadim's hand...
Screee—whiiirrrrrr—
...slicing across the vast arena to embed dead-center in Lumark's face.
Crunch—thud!
"Guh."
The Spear of the North staggered, lost balance, collapsed, and smashed face-first into the dirt.
"......Huh?"
"Hm?"
"What...? What just happened...?"
The crowd hadn't even caught it. Murmurs rippled like pond waves. Heads tilted, puzzled gasps rose, then voices exploded in confusion.
"Wh-what are you doing?! Get up, Spear of the North!"
"Match started! Demon Slayer's gunning for your neck!!"
"Damn it, enough joking!! I bet everything on you!!"
But then they saw blood pooling under Lumark's face, a crimson puddle spreading.
Everyone froze, mouths agape.
"......"
A solemn hush descended. Gooseflesh prickled. The air froze solid, as if plunged into the North's merciless heart—shock and horror incarnate.
Grind... screeech...
In the silenced arena, only the eerie echo of Kadim forcing the bars open and departing reverberated.